Rescued Roommate

All characters are over the age of 18 at the time of any sexual activity.

Dear readers,

This new tale marks my longest single-take story to date, by quite a margin. It's a more of a conventional love story than my other submissions, but with the added elements offered by the category and story tags. Please have a look before investing the time. The spicy bits do take longer to get to, but like all my works, feelings and emotions come first.

While our two main characters do have very human struggles and hangups throughout the story, I won't leave you disappointed or pining at the end. If you've read any of my other stories here... IYKYK.

Special thanks to my beta readers and proofreaders: Rawsilhouette, thatsbogus, and SpotInTheSand. Check out their catalogs here for some engaging stories.

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"Dammit, that's my exit," I cursed under my breath.

Waving to the car I cut off, I swerved to take the offramp. It had been actual years since I'd been to this part of town. The large shopping mall was the only real attraction at this particular junction, and I hadn't been much into shopping in quite a while.

I'd booked an appointment at the EyeMart express a week ago, and had nearly forgotten about it until this afternoon when the reminder in my phone went off. I had to cut my staff meeting short at work and rush out so I'd make it my customary fifteen minutes early.So I'm a little OCD about punctuality, sue me.

I should probably back up a bit.

The decade of my life between thirty and forty was a dark spot. Like... really dark. I'd allowed myself probably too much pity, and a bunch of bad habits that had come along for the ride. Indulging some of my idiosyncrasies was one of them. The rest were probably familiar to most people... unhealthy food, drinking, not much attention to personal hygiene or dressing well.

Turning forty hit me hard. My daughter graduated at seventeen and left for college, and it had been officially ten years since I'd become a widower.

Stupidest word ever.

Awidowis a woman left behind when her husband dies, so technically a widow-erwould be the aforementioned dead husband, the one whomadethe widow, right? I'd played that round of etymological ping pong in my head so many times, the word hardly held meaning for me anymore.

Despite my ongoing feud with the English language, I was awidower,and at thirty, no less. The word made me sound old and decrepit and sad. In so many ways, it held a power over me far greater than a single word should. The truth was, I reallywasold, decrepit, and sad, almost overnight.

Laurel and I were high school sweethearts. We excitedly swapped virginities after senior prom, at which she was fond of pointing out...she made the move on me. We were largely inseparable after that, even after a year apart during my freshman year in college when she wanted to travel while I started on my business degree.

She came back from Europe and Southeast Asia a new person, but still my Laurel. Somehow, she was more beautiful and worldly than ever. But more importantly, she hadn't lost her eyes for me. When she told me she'd remained faithful during all her crazy travels and co-ed hostels and camping along the French Riviera, I believed her without question.

She enrolled at the same university, and finished her accelerated nursing program the same term I got my degree. Both our immediate families beamed proudly in the sea of relatives that showed up for our shared graduation.

We're pretty sure we got pregnant that very night.

By the time we figured it out, we both had job offers. Somehow, her indomitable spirit rolled with it like it was the most natural and wonderful thing in the world. My mind tended toward thelife derailing, worst-timing-ever-mistakeend of the spectrum. I even briefly considered asking her to get an abortion. Laurel's fierce spirit and love of life made that a non-starter and I didn't even bring it up.

We got married a month later. Not because either of us felt any kind of obligation or moral code to uphold... we simply loved each other, we were bringing a life into the world, and that's all that mattered. It was gonna happen anyway. We had a small ceremony with our closest friends and both sets of parents. And just like that, we were starting a family.

I began my career as a frontline manager at a then small software development company. I'd almost considered switching to computer science freshman year and had taken a number of the classes, so my blend of tech and business courses ended up serving me well.

Laurel went straight to work for the large regional hospital near us, working in the NICU unit. They didn't know she was pregnant when she started, but her co-workers quickly caught on and were ridiculously happy for her.

We both loved our jobs, our life, everything.

When Laurel went into labor at thirty-one weeks, I was absolutely beside myself. My gut reaction to panic and hyperventilate was so strong I nearly threw up. It's one of the most vivid memories I still have of her... between her way-too-early contractions, she grabbed my hands and stared into my eyes.

'Ben, you remember I do this for a living, right? We have every piece of equipment, every procedure, the best staff and doctors for five hundred miles. Go get my bag, then fucking man up and drive me to the hospital.'

My own laugh had sliced through my paralyzing fear. Even though she was in labor and probably inwardly as terrified as I was, she was giving me a pep talk. And just enough emphasis with an uncharacteristic f-bomb to seal it up nice.

I don't remember much of the next forty-eight hours, other than the NICU doc telling us that little Gabrielle was going to be fine. Healthy. Amazing. The next few weeks weren't relaxing, but we still came home with a beautiful daughter.

With few exceptions, the people at our wedding turned into our support system, ourvillage. Both of us had great jobs, and we kept them. Laurel's work was incredibly accommodating. Between our parents and friends, and a few night shifts here and there, we got Gabby to kindergarten.

She was as much a copy of her mother as you could imagine. Curious, precocious, never afraid to put someone in their place. An adorable little waif of a girl that was as smart as she was cute.

The day that changed everything.

We'd just come home from her third grade parent-teacher conference. Laurel was working a swing shift and met me at the school. We listened with pride as the teacher tried to describe her amazed views on our little girl. We just nodded and let her drone on with praise, knowing Gabby was listening intently under the guise of coloring something on the other side of the room.

We left and kissed goodbye outside the classroom.

My phone rang twenty minutes later. The caller ID was one of Laurel's co-workers we were close to, enough that I had her contact in my cell. The oddly calm tone in her voice tipped me off first. Laurel had been making a left turn onto the hospital's access road when a guy in a lifted pickup floored it through the red light.

Half the ER staff ran out on foot. The crash was so loud that they'd heard it inside the building. Someone finally came out dragging a gurney and a crash cart, but they were really only symbolic. Her body was as mangled as the car's sheet metal. As much as I would have given to be there for the last few words she was able to speak, I'm glad I didn't have to see her like that.

The next month was a blur, and I've allowed those memories to fade into the jumbled mess that probably mirrored our new reality.

There I was, a thirty year old single dad of an eight year old. I'd like to say I coped well, but that would be a very slim half-truth. I somehow managed to keep my job, despite repeated mental health day call outs, especially that first year. Though she didn't know it, Gabby had the reins of my fragile sanity, regularly pulling me out of my deserved funk with often just a simplecome on daddy, being sad isn't fun. She was as much a parent to me as I was to her. Maybe more so some days.

We dealt with all the teenage girl growing-up things together; again, her handling it much better than me.

The year she graduated high school I turned forty. If there was a bright spot in my recent life, it was that between my good job and Laurel's carefully invested life insurance payout, I was able to tell Gabby she could go to college wherever she wanted. It was certainly a turning point in both our lives, and what finally snapped me out of the bad place I'd allowed myself to wallow in for a decade.

I came to two very different realizations in the weeks before Gabby moved out. One, that she was leaving, taking my support framework with her. In so many ways, she'd become a surrogate for the wife, the partner I no longer had. We made decisions together, laughed, cried... maybe all dads did that with their daughters? I had no frame of reference to know if it was normal or not.

The second, and definitely more positive outcome was thatI did it.The most important job in my life, raising a child to adulthood. Whether it was my dubious parenting or simply being there and not a complete basket case... she somehow made it through. She had some of the same, perhaps shallower scars than I did, but she was amazing. She had turned into an awesome person with a bright future. I took some ownership in that and vowed that I deserved to make my own life better. Especially since I had the time and resources to do it.

After a lot of soul searching, I was determined to not age gracefully, but maybe age appropriately. I revamped my diet, started going to the gym and jogging. I subscribed to one of those hair restoration clubs and started dutifully applying the stuff to my scalp. I even began moisturizing my face and wearing sunscreen again.

In a year, I was back down to my high school senior weight. My thinning sandy blonde hair grew back in and I started getting it cut regularly again.

The next year was centered around cementing all my good behaviors, working on muscle definition at the gym, even yard work and sprucing up the house. I finally gave in and bought some new clothes that better fit my now more fit body.

While I definitely looked better, I was certainly still aging. Staring at a computer screen for eight hours a day left my eyes tired, and hence, my grudging visit to the optometrist.

I pulled into the mall parking lot and glanced at my watch.Fifteen minutes early. Walking through the oddly quaint shopping area, I browsed past the display windows at H&M. The male mannequins had an array of nice button-downs in muted colors still more exciting than anything in my closet. I made my way inside and quickly got the impression I was too old to be there.

I wandered into the men's section and found the shirts from the window. Going with my newfound confidence, I started thumbing through the different colors.

"Anything I can help you with?" said a bright, clear voice.

"Just looking for some new shirts," I answered before glancing up.

A girl maybe a little older than Gabby stood there, smiling politely as I pushed the hangers around. I tried not to obviously stare at her. She was slender, wearing a pair of tight jeans that looked like they probably came from the store's inventory, and a loose sweatshirt. Her makeup looked a bit overdone, immediately reminding me of Gabby's middle school foray into beauty products that I was of absolutely no help with. She wore her dark brown hair short, clipped neatly on the sides and spiked and teased on top.

Aside from the maybe unusual haircut and thick makeup, I found her attractive.Pretty. Her smile was bordering on infectious, and her bright, piercingly blue eyes were impossible not to look at.

"Well, we definitely have new shirts here," she said with a grin. "Any particular color?"

I laughed nervously. "Jeez, I dunno... I'm kinda in the middle of a wardrobe rebuild. What would you recommend?"

"I'd get this one," she said, gesturing at a muted jade green. "Matches your eyes."

I couldn't tell if I was imagining a demurely flirty smile. My heart fluttered as a distinct emotion tore through my synapses. I could have sworn my palms started to sweat.

"Well I'd better get it then," I said nervously, grabbing amediumfrom the rack.

She flashed me an appraising look and gave me a top to bottom stare, then a sideways head cock.

"You're about five ten and what, a hundred sixty pounds?"

My jaw drooped a bit.How'd she do that?"Yeah..." I said, bemused.

"I'd go with a small, I think you'll like the fit better."

"I've always been a medium," I muttered.

"Of course," she said politely with a nod. "Any other shopping, or are you ready to check out?"

"That's it, thank you," I answered. We made our way toward a register and finished the transaction. I finally looked down at her name tag before leaving.

Kyra.

Don't be that guy that uses names on a person you just met...

"Thanks for your help,Kyra," I said warmly.It just slipped out.

"No problem...Ben," she smiled, looking at my credit card before handing it back.

I stuffed the card back into my wallet before turning on a heel and propelling myself out of the store. I fought the urge to glance over my shoulder as I left. Back out into the mall and away from the H&M, I shook my head.

She's probably Gabby's age...I thought, mentally scolding myself as I walked. Still, her comment about my eyes stoked some pleasant, dormant emotions of being even mildly attractive.Attracted.

I sat through my eye exam, finding myself rather preoccupied, not with whether I could read the fourth or fifth lines of meaningless letters on the tiny board.

With a new pair of glasses on order and my jade green shirt in hand, I made my way home. Something about a little retail therapy had apparently put me in a good mood. This afternoon's unusual dalliance with checking out a woman, even one probably half my age, was something that hadn't happened in decades.

I tried on thesmallshirt when I got home, it fit perfectly.

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The next week I got the email that my glasses were ready. I decided to head over on my lunch hour and indulge in some fast food Chinese noodles and chicken that were certainly horrible for me. With a brief detour to the optometrist to grab my new specs, I made my way to the food court. It was quite busy, and I had to wait in line for my food. With my tray of orange chicken and yakisoba in hand, I looked for somewhere to sit. Every table in my line of sight was occupied, high schoolers and older people that must have jobs nearby. I started circling the area, waiting for someone to get up. Just ahead, was a familiar head of dark brown, spiky hair.

I walked casually past, glancing over my shoulder to confirm. I had no idea where the forwardness came from, but I turned around and spoke to her.

"Oh hey, Kyra! Ben, of the green shirt..."

She looked up from her phone at me. "Ben, of course! How are ya? How'd that shirt work out?"

"Amazing, actually... you were right." She nodded and grinned. "So I just came to pick up some glasses and grab lunch, sorry to bother you. It's so busy here!"

"Lunch rush," she said, "always a zoo." She glanced around while I stood there next to her table. "Have a seat if you want, looks like everything is full."

"Uhh... sure you don't mind?"

"Nah, I'm just killing time before I gotta go back to the salt mines."

I pulled out the chair and sat down. She smiled at me as I dug into my food. I looked at her lunch, grimacing.

"Are you actually putting pickle relish on a corn dog?" I said.

"Yeah," she laughed, "it's better than it sounds, I promise."

"I'll have to take your word for it," I chuckled, "eww."

She giggled and we started to chat while we ate. Before I knew it, half an hour had passed and I needed to get back for a meeting. I thanked Kyra for the chair and the conversation, and left the mall.

As I drove back to work, a new set of thoughts began to swirl in my head. It had been so long that I'd had an even a passing connection with someone that didn't work for or with me, or was a family member. I'd just talked with a real person out in the real world... the thought put into relief the realization that I'd been in minimal effort survival mode for nearly a quarter of my life.

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As a few days passed, it felt like I was coming out of some kind of cocoon. I noticed my relationships at the office started to change. A couple of my friendlier employees invited me out for a beer after work, which although among the habits I'd largely given up, was nice to indulge in a social setting.

I went back to the mall several times in the next week, always ending up browsing in the H&M. I bought a new outfit each time, often finding Kyra working. She remembered me and began to treat me like a regular customer.

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I began to notice that the female population in my office started to take notice of my new wardrobe and personal outlook on life. At least it felt like it. More 'Hi there, Ben!'in the hallways or parking lot with wider smiles. A woman I'd worked with long enough to know about Laurel asked me if I'd thought about dating. I responded honestly that I wasn't sure I was ready for that, butmaybe. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.Okay, maybe I am, I added.

It turned out that my coworker had been asking for a friend. She brokered a blind date dinner the next week after her friend got back from a business trip. She readily shared social media handles and said it was perfectly fine to do a little online stalking so I'd have some idea about her when we met.

I made it all the way to my car that evening before allowing myself to pull out my phone.

"Alright," I said aloud to myself as I sat there, pulling up her pages, "she's good looking. Good taste in clothes,blonde. Wonder if it's real..."

As I scrolled through her photos, I saw some nice vacations, some with what looked like a couple of grown children.Has to be at least my age, maybe a bit more,divorced probably. Everyone has baggage,I allowed.The shitshow I'll bring to that table will be right up there. Okay, let's do this.

My stomach fluttered as I pulled out of the parking lot to head home. I found myself pulling toward the mall, not for personal retail therapy this time, but with a mission. I needed to bedate ready. I thought through everything I'd bought lately. All office-appropriate, nice, but plain.I need something a little more trendy.The whole front half of the men's section at H&M seemed like a good place to start.The stuff they put on the mannequins, not the three-for-sixty-bucks shirts I buy.

I made my way inside and forced myself straight toward the scary shirts with odd hems and patterns. Picking through the bordering-on-garish tops, I instinctively glanced around for Kyra. She usually worked in the men's section, but I didn't see her.Probably has the evening off, I thought offhandedly.

Grabbing three contenders that would almost certainly go right back on the rack, I made my way back to the changing rooms. The guy lazily attending the entrance handed me a plastic number and I found my little mirrored box. With a snigger at my own reflection, I dutifully tried on each shirt. The first two were objectively hideous, at least on me. I couldn't imagine that twenty years off my age would have helped, but knockoff haute couture apparently wasn't my thing. The last one had possibilities. A subtle paisley print on the cuffs and collar gave the shirt a little more flair that I was usually comfortable with.